


Taking Independence

by ChaoticFayth



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Holidays, Implied MacCready/Deacon, M/M, Minor FO4 Spoilers, One Shot, Past Violence, Porn With Plot, Railroad/Minutemen Commonwealth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticFayth/pseuds/ChaoticFayth
Summary: "And it's hard to write about being happy, 'cause the older I get, I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject."The first Independence Day after the main events of FO4. An overall look at the status of Vaultie's Sanctuary. Set about 10 months after Road to Sanctuary. A thank you to those of you who've waited so long for me to finish RtS and now get to wait through the rewrite.





	Taking Independence

The 4th of July in the Commonwealth Wasteland is nothing like it was before the war. No mass-produced fireworks, no bars crowded with loud patrons, no real patriotism to be had. But, the Commonwealth is a strange place with its mixture of post-War hostility and pre-War Americana. Which leads the birthday of the United States a day that’s typically celebrated, even if it may be just an excuse to raise the spirits of those who survived the aftermath of the country’s poor politics. Strangely enough, the resurgence of the aptly-named Minutemen make this Independence Day one the Commonwealth looks forward to. Settlers in comfortable homes make sure to thank their local Minutemen with food and drink and there are smiles readily seen on the faces of most leading up to the actual day.

 

Independence Day means something else in the Commonwealth, it seems.

 

Sanctuary is the busiest it’s been since the Institute’s fall some months prior. Most that call the place home have wandered back for a rest, if nothing else. Even those that stay on occasion but live elsewhere are bunking in the safe little town, perhaps sensing the festivities to come. It falls to Sturges to manage the people in any way he can, this time with help from a Mr. Handy all too eager to please. No fresh faces in the crowd, only friends and those that have come to be called family. Even so, there’s a quiet din of sound at all times, from conversation to rigged up games, to general happiness that none of them have ever seen. 

 

Mama Murphy’s eased into her chair, herded by an opinionated german shepherd whenever she tries to get up to ‘help’ things. It’d taken a few tries, but she eventually settles with knitting and talking to anyone who’ll listen. Both Jun and Marcy are close at-hand, not even an argument between them as they’re both busy preparing food indoors. Side-dishes, a stew, things not being grilled. The grill itself is managed by Old Longfellow, the keenest at roasting meat, and none argue the point. He’s been up since dawn and rarely says a peep as long as he’s supplied with alcohol and left to his work. 

 

Though a security system spans the walls of Sanctuary and rarely needs upkeep, two keep watch at the gate. Less as guards and more in waiting for the Minuteman who should be showing up from the coast at any point. MacCready leans against a rebuilt railing of the Old North Bridge, slender hands whittling away at a block of wood in his hands.  _ Whittling _ . Old Longfellow seems to be leaving more of an impression than he’d admit. Perched on the railing next to him is someone dressed like a Minuteman, though the telltale glint of sunglasses on his face gives him away easily. Sunglasses that stay in place despite him squinting through binoculars past the Red Rocket and toward Concord.

 

“Anythin’ yet, Deeks?” MacCready stops to brush at the carving in his hands. Not bad, he has to admit. The practice he’s got over the past few months has definitely been worth it. Maybe he’ll have a whole set of Commonwealth figures of note done up before he heads out to the Capital Wasteland this fall. Maybe.

 

“Neg-a-rooney on that one.” Deacon lowers the binoculars for a moment, so he can level a lopsided grin at the one next to him. “Sunset’s not for a couple hours yet. Easy on the trigger finger, slick.”

 

The agent gets a grunt in reply, but he’s right. The trip from The Castle is a long one, and it’d be a fool’s wishes to expect any of them before the sun started to creep below the horizon. Either way, neither Deacon or MacCready are budging from their posts. It’s a nice view, besides the point.

 

It’d taken no small amount of convincing, but the entire crew stationed out of Diamond City had come up for the holiday. Publick Occurrences left empty with both Piper and Nat buzzing around Sanctuary--Nat playing with the other kid in attendance, and Piper flitting about quietly, camera in-hand. Though her home away from home was already covered in polaroids and developed photos, the journalist never seemed to be far away from a shutter click. Blue might jokingly complain, might threaten to not help her whenever the camera needs a tune-up, but every member of Sanctuary seems to hold the photos with fond regard. 

 

Though Nick had been the hardest of the Diamond City crew to convince, he’s spent hours trading stories with Mama Murphy, comfortably settled onto an old re-stuffed couch. It wasn’t for himself that the convincing had been difficult, but to leave the office completely empty and have Ellie come with him. Not that he was hesitant about it now, seeing her laughing and thoroughly enjoying herself away from work for once. In fact, the only complaint that the old synth seemed to have was that his personal space was being encroached upon by a Mayoral ghoul who’d draped over the remainder of the couch and kept stealing cigarettes from him. Granted, ‘complaint’ may have been an overstatement. The closest he gets to complaints is the occasional grumble and swipe of a cigarette back from Hancock.

 

The street in front of Workshop, as most call the house lived in by Mama, a couple of rowdy sorts have set up one of the many games reintroduced to them by the Vaultie herself. Horseshoes, she’d called it, and it’d taken on immediately as it gave Cait an excuse to curse and throw things. The redhead is doing her best to drunkenly explain the rules to Fahrenheit, who grasps them easily enough. Or, she says she does, at least. Even if she seems to be aiming less at the target and more at the super mutant and raider they’re playing against. Strong doesn’t mind--more accurately, he doesn’t notice--but Gage picks up on her aim quickly and lobs them directly back in retaliation. It’ll be a miracle if horseshoes doesn’t devolve into an outright brawl in the middle of the street.

 

Back at the Greenhouse on the east end, Curie is doing well with her new assistant. Though it’s not plants they’re tending right now, instead she and Ada are harvesting a barrel or two from the well-constructed distillery tucked away in the corner of the building. It’s a good haul, as Gage had originally set it up himself, and Curie had, for a lack of a better term, perfected it. He’d complained at first, but he couldn’t knock her improvements. Which seemed to be a trend with this crowd as far as Gage was concerned. Complain first, agree later. Yell at the Vaultie for a bit, end up with a real home for his troubles. Funny how things work out.

 

Out of everything, two buildings sit unoccupied for the festivities. A treehouse in the center of the cul-de-sac, made of glass and white-painted metal, and a home flying an orange and white flag. No one asks why they’re empty. Everyone already knows.

 

True to anyone’s guess, the moment dusk peeks over the horizon, a bell rings at the Old North Bridge. Deacon and MacCready push the gate to Sanctuary open to make way for the small caravan--two brahmin pulling a cart loaded with fresh produce and meats, carrying two Minutemen, a small ghoulish farmer, a scowling heavy hitter and a very tired Vaultie. Right on time. Under normal circumstances, a shipment from Fenton’s farm would take a good hour to unload, but with all hands on deck it barely takes minutes. The pre-war ghoul takes his place coordinating the food and even manages to pop in at the grill, long as he bribes Longfellow with whiskey and follows up by letting Sloan and Colonel Cohen distract him with like-minded grumblings. Valutie plops into a seat between Hancock and Valentine the most undignified way she can manage, but no one complains. In fact, Hancock only moves for a moment to grab cold beers for the two of them--and one for Mama, once she chides him. 

 

That leaves Preston, a Colonel now of his own right, unhitching the brahmin from their cart and instead ushering them into the pen by the greenhouse to graze. Gentle he eases their leads off of them, and Preston takes a minute to smooth a hand across the elder of the two, who lifts a head to moo quietly in his direction. Only when he finally turns to leave the brahmin to their business does he notice he’s got an audience of Sturges, leaned against the wooden gate of the pen.

 

“You just can’t help bein’ nice to everyone, can you?” The handyman grins and today’s a day he’s not muddled by motor oil. In fact, Sturges looks the most put-together that Preston’s ever seen him. Hair slicked back, unsmudged glasses resting on his nose, freshly shaven face. The only thing to mar his appearance is gauze on his right bicep, covering a fresh tattoo to add to his collection. 

  
  


“Too nice for my own good, maybe,” Preston replies and edges past Sturges to latch the gate once he’s out, hanging the leads of the brahmin on the fence after. In contrast to a strangely clean mechanic, Preston is covered in bits of dust and grime from a day’s venture by cart. No blood this time, as it’s hard for anything to touch the caravan with the motley crew guarding today. But he’s filthy and tired and wondering how Sturges can even look at him with that endearing expression right about now.

 

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that.” Despite the dirt on the Colonel’s features, Sturges slides a hand over the side of Preston’s neck and pulls him in for a gentle kiss. Somehow, no matter the circumstances, Preston’s always welcomed back to Sanctuary with a kiss from the mechanic that has his heart fluttering like it’s their first. Soft, but lingering chaste against his lips. It steals his breath every time, leaves him clinging to strong arms that wrap around him.

 

A part of Preston wonders how he got so lucky. 

Another part reminds himself just how hard they had to work to get here.

 

Sturges pulls away with a smile, a calloused thumb smoothing back and forth on Preston’s cheek fondly. Though it’s been almost half a year since they found their new home, so many moments still feel like the first, like new. Maybe it’ll always be that way. 

 

“Why don’t we grab some grub before it’s gone? You look like you could use a bite to eat,” The mechanic doesn’t particularly wait for a response, instead taking Preston by the hand and leading him toward Workshop, where good food and pleasant company await them.

 

\---

 

To no one’s surprise, the festivities last well beyond midnight. 

 

Vaultie teaches everyone a couple new booze-related games and the one that takes off the best is beer pong, especially once Ada reveals that she’s catalogued a stash of ping-pong balls amongst Sanctuary’s salvage--salvage that she’s been put in charge of since she joined the crew, since no one else seems to think very highly of it. And yet none of them complain when she’s always finding useful bits out of the bunch. 

 

All two of Sanctuary’s current kids teeter out once the fireworks subside. They’re loud and fun and Fenton’s proud as he can be, especially because it’s been over two centuries since he’s had a reason to make any. Though the Vaultie’s mom instincts lead her to want to tuck the kids in, Piper and Ellie bid her to actually take time to rest, and the kids are tucked in down at Piper’s place like usual. Safe and sound in Sanctuary.

 

Even with those assembled, there’s still leftovers to be put away. Workshop’s fridge is shoved full by the time they’re done, and it takes a bit of coaxing but Preston eventually lets himself get squirreled away home by a rather insistent mechanic. Sturges, slightly tipsy from the night’s festivities--and losing a couple rounds of beer pong, at that--wraps an arm tightly around Preston’s shoulders as they walk home, keeping his Minuteman close. 

 

Home. It’s such a novel idea to him. An actual house, a garage attached where he can work on his projects. Somewhere safe, protected by friends and allies. When they left Quincy, none of them ever thought that they’d be safe again. Oh how wrong they were, in the long run. Blissfully, thankfully wrong. 

Once they are home, tipsy though Sturges may be--and a tipsy Sturges wants nothing more than to hold his Preston close--he does let the thinker in him nudge Preston to the shower. They have working plumbing for a reason, and the Minuteman is certainly filthy from a day’s travel. No point in dirtying their bed if they can help it, now that they do have a nice home. Sturges goes to settle in while he waits for his bedmate, and must have dozed off in the meanwhile. A blink, and suddenly he’s mostly sober, with sore muscles and a vague headache, but no Preston in sight.

 

Sturges groans and pushes to his feet, navigating in the mostly dark to the bathroom, only to find Preston freshly damp, clad only in a towel, shaving in front of the bathroom mirror. Such a casually domestic sight has the mechanic lean in against the doorframe just to watch. The marksman shaves with careful hands on a straight razor, over a shapely jaw and gentle to keep from snagging any scars. It’s mesmerizing, and Sturges could watch such a thing as long as allowed.

 

“Don’t mean to bore you,” Preston says, finally rinsing his face clean of soap and remnants of stubble. 

 

“You’re not boring me in the slightest, Sunshine,” Sturges pushes away from the door and closes the distance between the two of them, easing up behind his partner. He runs a calloused hand up Preston’s bare back, appreciating the handsome expanse before him, still pleasantly warm from bathing. Unable to help himself, he kisses Preston’s shoulder, softly working his way up to the side of the man’s neck.

 

“But I kept you waiting.” There’s a smile to the marksman’s words, and Sturges can see it reflected in the mirror as well. 

 

“Hm? I didn’t notice.” The mechanic teases in return, resting both hands on Preston’s hips. He’s so pleasantly warm, like the sun his nickname comes from, and Sturges just wants to curl around him. Little moments like these were unthinkable just a few months back, the handyman wants to steal every last one he can have, no matter how plentiful they may be for the rest of their lives.

 

“Why don’t I make it up to you?” Preston leans back against the other man, tilting his head so he can kiss lazily along Sturges’ strong jaw. They both enjoy this, just this being together without any expectations placed upon them. With deft fingers, Preston unfolds his towel and pulls it away to drop upon the floor unceremoniously, leaving himself bare in the arms of his partner. Sturges takes full advantage, hands sliding from hips to handsome thighs and roaming further to Preston’s still soft cock.

 

“You sure do know how to push my buttons, Sunshine.” Sturges’ calloused fingertips smooth along Preston’s cock, exploring at first. Tonight’s a night when they can take it slow, where they can learn one another without any rush. This is a night about freedom, and Preston lets his head tip back with a soft sigh as Sturges touches him. He lets his partner support most of his weight, one hand sliding across Sturges’ forearm in encouragement. And encourage him it does, as the mechanic curls his fingers around Preston’s cock, stroking slowly just to arouse him. He sets teeth upon his Minuteman’s shoulder and up, kissing with open mouth to the side of his partner’s neck, where he bites and sucks a mark onto that perfect dark skin. Something that will be seen, being that it’s too hot for Preston’s trademark scarf right about now. Just knowing that in the back of his head makes him groan with need against the other man’s neck.

 

It doesn’t take much to make Preston hard, not with talented hands stroking him even lazily as they are. He presses his hips back against Sturges and can feel, even through the denim of his overalls, his partner’s arousal. Preston wants him, wants to be as close to him as possible and together revel in the reward of their hard-won independence. As they have time and time again in the past. In their home, with no danger or impending doom to stop them.

 

Preston tilts his face just enough so he can whisper against Sturges’ ear. “Take me to bed, love.”

 

That’s all the go-ahead Sturges needs. He gathers Preston into his arms and bodily carries him from the bathroom to the bedroom. The marksman loops his arms around Sturges’ neck, not making the trip any easier by the kisses he covers that handsome face with. Not that Sturges minds, of course. He keeps that contact, holding Preston close as he presses his partner to the mattress of their bed, kissing him open-mouthed in return. The Minuteman easily wraps his legs around Sturges’ hips, and it’s a dance they’ve done countless times before, but it never gets old. 

 

Except that Sturges is still entirely clothed and it’s frustrating. Preston leans up to kiss Sturges further, biting at his lower lip and tugging just enough to tease. The mechanic takes the bait, pressing down hard and dragging his hands down Preston’s body to take his cock in-hand once more. It’s hard to concentrate with those hands on him, but the Minuteman manages just enough to pop open the clasps on Sturges overalls and push down--only to laugh when his front pocket opens up too, dumping knickknacks onto his bare torso.

 

“If that ain’t a thing--” Sturges props himself on his elbows for a second, distracted from his work. A good handyman knows what to packrat, even if he’s not on the job, it seems. With one hand, the mechanic leans to yank open a drawer at the bedside, and Preston quickly disposes of all the junk in it. Instead pressing a bottle of oil into his partner’s hands. Sturges accepts it with a grin, face still a bit pink in embarrassment. 

 

“You’re a mess, and I love you,” Preston laughs again, this time trying to work on the belt that stands between him and a mostly naked boyfriend. The fact that the man has to wear a overalls  _ and _ a belt just baffles Preston to no end. “Also, the most dressed out of the two of us.”

 

“Love you too, Sunshine,” Sturges never hesitates to reply in kind, to tell his partner that he is, in fact, loved. Quite deeply if he had to be specific. With a heart full to bursting of that love. As far as Sturges is concerned, there’s no one as perfect with all his flaws included as Preston is. And Sturges loves him so, so much. 

It doesn’t take him much to get out of his own belt and shove the overalls off, finally. Thanks to his tipsy earlier self his boots are already strewn across the floor, so once the offending piece of clothing is gone, Sturges is clad only in underwear and a t-shirt that should really be replaced eventually. Less clothed, he presses down against Preston again, feeling those limbs wrap around him once more. The Minuteman pulls him in close, wants to feel that broad chest against his more slender, to flex a marksman’s hands along strong lines of muscle, feeling every flex as his partner moves. Sturges is built like a brick house and it drives Preston absolutely crazy. When they’re alone, he can barely stop himself from touching, exploring every inch of skin, be it calloused, scarred or marked by ink. Sturges’ skin tells a story with every mark, and he wears it proudly. Preston is learning to do the same, with every moment they’re together. Every kiss that Sturges places on each of his scars. 

 

Sturges grinds his trapped erection down against Preston’s, causing the Minuteman to tip his head back and moan. There’s still too much fabric between them, but Sturges knows how to use it to his advantage. He leaves another mark on Preston’s skin, this one on a bare collarbone, nipping after, as he admires his work. If the world let them, they could stay forever in one another’s arms. Preston catches his breath enough to find the hem of Sturges’ shirt and pull it up, over strong shoulders to bare a broad chest. One hand lingers, over the mechanic’s heart, feeling the beat of it against his palm, always so strong. Strong enough for the both of them, on days where Preston can’t shoulder the entire Commonwealth. 

 

Preston leans up enough to kiss his partner again, barely taking notice as Sturges slides out of his last piece of clothing. What he does notice is the sudden press of hard cock against his inner thigh and he makes a noise of encouragement at that. Slides a hand down to cup a thick erection which has become so familiar to him over the past several months. He can’t get enough, has to touch even though in moments he’ll get all the touching he can take. But Preston wraps his fingers around Sturges’ cock and pumps, pleased when the handyman loses concentration for a moment. 

 

“Sunshine, you’re too much,” Sturges breathes, has to take a moment to gather himself. He’s sat back on his haunches, finally opening the bottle of oil that Preston had handed to him earlier. They’re running low, he notes passively. Sturges will have to ask Curie for some more when he has the time. The time not being now, of course. 

 

Rather, he squeezes some into the palm of his hand and Preston makes room for Sturges to coat his cock in lube. Helps some, as a matter of fact. If you can count teasing strokes from a deft hand as ‘helping’. Sturges moves as though he’s about to prep his partner, when Preston interrupts him briefly with a noise, having to gather his own thoughts through the haze of lust.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Preston’s breath hitches as Sturges has instead moved to stroking him again. The Minuteman’s heels drag against the bedding for some sort of traction to combat those delightfully rough hands. “Just-- _ please _ .” The last word comes out half-moan as Preston thrusts into Sturges’ hands, barely able to catch his breath. So, he may have done a bit of self-prep in the bath. It saved them both a bit of time, far as he was concerned. At least, most of the time.

 

“An’ normally  _ I’m _ the impatient one,” Sturges laughs and takes his own cock in-hand this time, slick head sliding across Preston’s hole teasingly. The Minuteman’s fingertips trail down Sturges’ torso, wanting to touch, to encourage more than just the worst sort of teasing he could imagine. But Sturges doesn’t make him wait too long, and instead slides into him slowly. 

 

Preston doesn’t stop the moan that slips past his lips, and he couldn’t particularly if he tried. Even prepared for it, even being with him for the time they’ve had thus far, it’s almost always a surprise how well Sturges fills him. Preston can already feel the tightness coiling at the base of his spine just at the feel of his partner’s cock sunk deep into him. His hands squeeze Sturges’ arms, wanting more, anything,  _ please _ . 

 

The mechanic leans in to steal another kiss as he adjusts to the squeeze around his cock. It’s always exquisite, and even though the feel is familiar to him, he still has to take a moment. Preston, so warm and ready, just for him. No one else but him. 

 

Sturges rolls his hips, not so slow this time. His partner is ready for him, and so he mustn’t disappoint. The mechanic hears his own name on Preston’s lips and dips in to hush his other half with a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth. One arm snakes down to hook underneath Preston’s leg and hoist it higher, and the marksman moans outright against Sturges’ mouth. It’s such a good angle, deep as he can take such a thick cock, and Preston’s having a hard time holding on. 

 

“Goddamn,” The mechanic groans, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along Preston’s jaw. He’s rocking his whole body with his partner, headboard thunking loudly against the wall behind it. Preston squeezes so well against his cock, Sturges has to thank him by wrapping a calloused hand around his Minuteman’s cock in turn, and this time it only takes a few strokes before Preston’s spilling out across his hand in orgasm. Preston says his lover’s name again and again, praising him as he rides that thick cock to completion. 

 

Tonight, Sturges doesn’t try to struggle against his own climax, instead soaking in the feel of Preston squeezing him tight. He moans against Preston’s throat, biting and kissing yet another mark into handsome dark skin. Another that will be easily to notice in summer heat. Sturges holds himself up on elbows above Preston, watching his partner come down slowly from such a lusty high. He kisses a scarred cheek up to an equally scarred temple, always trying to cover what led to their scars with softer memories. Not to forget, but to hold together with hard-won domestic bliss that they’ve forged together. One calloused hand picks up one of Preston’s, and he kisses that as well, a quiet thanks for all they’ve been through together. Preston smiles tiredly, squeezing Sturges’ hand in his own. They don’t particularly need words the rest of the night, just soft kisses on warm skin. Alive, free to be themselves and to be together, as neither of them would have expected such a happy outcome so many months ago.

 

After, Sturges lies on his back, blankets finally pulled up over him, with Preston nestled in against his side. He tugs the Minuteman close, holds the hand resting atop his chest. On nights when they’re together, neither of them dream too terribly. One chases away the nightmares of the other, caresses the shadows away. This is the independence they’ve fought so hard to win, to keep. The freedom they’ve allowed with one another. A quiet happiness, a certain safety. It’s enough for either of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Summary quote: "No Choir" by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> I'd meant to make this just porn without plot, but it ended up being porn WITH plot and that isn't exactly a bad thing. There are minor spoilers for RtS in here, but not enough that it'll entirely ruin the story, believe me. The first look at my Sole Survivor, Fiera Castillo, and a hint of what her Commonwealth turned out to look like, though it's not as cut and dry as it is in-game.


End file.
